The days after their reunion slipped into a new kind of rhythm. River and Lila no longer walked on eggshells, no longer feared the silence between sentences. They had learned to let it speak too.
Their apartment became a canvas for new memories. Polaroids lined the kitchen wall—photos from their cabin trip, blurry candids of River laughing mid-sentence, snapshots of Lila scribbling poetry on napkins. It wasn't perfect, but it was real. And for them, that was more than enough.
One cold morning, River dragged Lila out of bed before sunrise.
"Where are we going?" she mumbled, clutching his hoodie around her.
"You'll see. Just trust me."
The city was still asleep as they wandered through quiet streets, mist curling up from the pavement. He led her through an alley she didn't recognize, up a stairwell, and onto a rooftop.
And there it was.
The skyline, bathed in the pinks and golds of dawn. The cherry lights strung above them flickered on as if greeting the sun.
Lila's breath caught. "River… this is beautiful."
He smiled, stepping behind his camera. "So are you."
She turned to him, hair blowing in the wind. "You dragged me out here to take photos?"
He nodded. "And to tell you something."
She waited.
River lowered the camera. "I want to do more than love you. I want to build with you. Life. Art. Chaos. All of it. Together."
Lila stared at him, wind tugging at her sleeves. "So you're saying we're starting from scratch?"
He walked over, pulled her into his arms. "No. We're starting from the middle. The good part."
She laughed, leaning into him. "God, you're corny."
"Guilty."
They stood in silence as the sun painted the sky. The city woke slowly beneath them, cars humming to life, windows blinking open.
Later, they returned to the apartment, warmed by coffee and closeness. Lila sat by the window, writing. River scrolled through the photos he'd taken.
Suddenly, he froze.
"What is it?" she asked.
He turned the screen to her. There she was—caught mid-laugh, light glowing behind her like a halo. Unposed. Unfiltered. Radiant.
"I want this one for the next exhibit," he said.
Lila blinked. "You're doing another one?"
He nodded. "With you. Not just as my muse. As my partner."
Her heart thudded. "You're serious?"
"Deadly."
Over the next weeks, they dove into creation. River captured street moments, intimacy between strangers, the quiet courage in Lila's smile. She wrote companion pieces—verses and monologues that told stories behind the images.
Together, they curated a new narrative. One about survival. Love after damage. Light after loss.
Opening night arrived. This time, they walked in hand in hand.
The gallery buzzed with people, but all River saw was her. And when he stepped up to speak, voice steady and sure, he didn't talk about technique. He talked about her.
"My work used to be about seeing the world. Now, it's about seeing the people who change it."
He gestured toward her photo—the one on the rooftop.
"This is Lila. She taught me that art isn't about perfection. It's about being honest enough to let someone else see the truth in you. And choosing to stay."
Applause echoed, cameras flashed, but River only saw her eyes. Shining.
That night, as the gallery lights dimmed and guests filtered out, Lila and River stood beneath her photo.
She traced the frame with her finger. "So... what comes next?"
River smiled. "More. Of this. Of us."
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Promise?"
He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Always."
Outside, the cherry lights twinkled in the dark, their glow a reminder of how far they'd come—and how much further they could go.